Again
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: BB oneshot. Brennan's on a date. Again. Booth's not too happy about it. Again.


**Spoilers:** Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Written on like three hours' sleep. Inauguration stuff was broadcast at three in the morning, here. Damned time zones.

**Author's Note:** Inspired by two things:

A request from **Gam97**

And an **FCG Challenge**:

1. Your challenge is to write about a pairing that conflicts with your favorite couple.

2. Try and focus on the details and imagery.

3. Minimum word count: 1,000

4. Rating: Any

5. Your favorite pairing _can_ get together/back together if you wish.

* * *

Again.

It was happening again.

What he had ever done to warrant this kind of… ricochet was beyond him. There were some things that just didn't get easier over time; that wouldn't just go away once one stopped thinking about them. Unfortunately for him, this was one of them. And it wasn't looking particularly promising; at least not for him.

Brennan - _his Bones_ - had gone on yet another date. With yet another guy. And he had yet another reason to brood. Brooding, he'd found recently, was something he did particularly well when it came to Brennan and her new, and always short-lived, relationships. Hell, her relationship with _him_ required periods of brooding for both of them.

Yet, there was a certain amount of acceptance in their mutual brooding. Their relationship _wasn't_ easy; it never had been, and it never would be. And Booth didn't want it to be. If a relationship was easy, there was obviously something wrong with it. The only time he'd ever had an uncomplicated relationship was one of the few times he'd dated a woman in whom he wasn't particularly interested. Frankly, a relationship that was had simply _because_ it was easy; something he could relax into without putting in any effort.

After coming back from Europe for the third or fourth time, he had needed something simple.

And he was sure that for the now-distant 'her', it had been the same.

But the acceptance that coloured his relationship with Brennan was as confusing as it was comforting. He knew that there was always going to be an acceptance of each other, and of their _collective_ selves; but there was still that niggling knowledge that despite what she said, what she did, where she worked, she still needed stability. And that was something that he was sure he couldn't honestly give to her – not at this point in his life: not now, not in the near future.

But nor was dating man after man the epitome of stability.

Still, the most he knew he could offer her was the reassurance of his feelings for her. _That_ he would give to her time and time again, if she'd only let him. _If_ there were not limits on their relationship, _if_ she didn't see things in such black-and-white clarity, _if_ they would ever be able to agree on what they wanted.

And this wasn't likely to happen.

His notions of romance were just so different from hers. His notions of what a romantic relationship should be were different to hers; at least, that's what he told himself. There was still that sneaking suspicion that _whatever_ kind of relationship he had with his partner would work out. And that he didn't like to dwell on too much because it was too much to hope for.

He would be let down. Again.

He truly envied the man she was out with now; drinking wine, making small-talk. And he had to chuckle just a little at that because Brennan did _not_ make small-talk. Not with anyone – save maybe her father. He took a little comfort in the fact that he knew this, and the very probable likelihood that her date did not. Booth knew her better than anyone else probably ever would. He hoped.

It wasn't as if any of her previous dates had lasted longer than one night. Just how far that night went each time, he was always morbidly – masochistically – curious. He told himself that he _didn't_ want to know; he told _her_ that he didn't want to. But he could always tell. Without anything said between himself and Brennan, he could tell _exactly_ how far it had gone. Or hadn't gone, be that the case.

Those were the mornings that warranted normalcy and straightforwardness between himself and Brennan: joking, breakfast, banter. Closeness.

Knowing that her date had gone 'well', on the other hand, was always somewhat awkward. He wasn't sure if she knew that he could tell when she'd kept her date overnight, but her body language suggested that she probably did. Her eyes wouldn't meet his – not truly, not with the trust and clarity that he was used to – and she would never stand as close as he would have liked.

He was almost glad for that, though, and that was an odd feeling. He had a fear – irrational, he knew, and wouldn't Brennan laugh if she heard this? – that she wouldn't smell the same. That the sort of energy that usually emanated from her would have changed, or disappeared altogether.

It was harder to touch her those mornings, even subconsciously. _Especially_ subconsciously. He wasn't sure she hadn't noticed, but Brennan had never brought it up. Then again, that would mean admitting that she noticed the 'casual', 'guy-hug-y' way he touched her almost every time they were together. _That_ he knew she must notice; it was only that the acknowledgement of it that had never been given.

And most of the time he _liked_ that it was unspoken. They had something that most people didn't – couldn't – have with someone they weren't romantically intimate with. That she hadn't acknowledged it or questioned it was a testament to the fact that she accepted it. And again the silent acceptance was something they shared that was both confounding and innate.

Sighing, Booth glanced down at the sharp amber of his untouched scotch. He put it down without regret. He didn't need it, he wasn't like his father. But tonight wasn't a night for such matters. Nothing so harrowing, so gutting.

No, those moments were for another time; one when he wasn't alone, one when he had the reassurance that was his partner. And that was not – _could not be_ – tonight. Tonight she belonged to herself, and to someone else.

But, he knew, whatever the outcome of her date tonight, tomorrow she would be his.

Again.

* * *

Just for the record, I quite like this piece. Don't know why. Something about 'no speech' is just fun.

Review?

Love.


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